It's Not That Easy Being Green
by Mercutio of Naboo
Summary: Size Matters Not: a young Yoda learns the first of many important lessons. The start of a series on Yoda as a child.


Disclaimer: GL is God. The SW universe is his. I am scum, and just play with it when he isn't looking.  
  
Comments? Feedback? Errors? Mail me, pleeeeese, mercutio@mail.com  
  
  
It's Not That Easy Being Green  
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Part 1: Size Matters Not  
  
The young Durekkan fled through the trees, his eyes wide with fear and his breath coming in short gasps. The bigger kids were chasing him again. The last time they had caught up with him they'd forced him to eat Gekageka fruit. He'd been ill for three days afterwards, and his mother had refused to believe that he hadn't chosen to eat them himself because they looked so pretty.  
  
He didn't know what they'd do to him if they caught him this time, and he didn't want to find out. He flung himself from one branch to another, hands and feet both outstretched to grab hold. Gripping tightly with his long toes he ran out along the limb to the thinner tip, his stumpy legs moving in a blur. The branch shook, but didn't snap. The only advantage to being small was that he could use the branches that the other kids couldn't.  
  
One of the many disadvantages was that he always got picked on. He was the 'titch', the 'tiny', the 'baby'. He was the one that always got chased off, the one to be told he couldn't join in because he was 'too small', the one who got bullied because he couldn't fight back.  
  
He could still hear the sounds of pursuit behind him. The bigger kids could jump further and move faster than he could. He was too tired and too scared to think of a plan to escape. He took a sobbing breath and leaped for the next tree, his feet slipping a little as they grabbed the big trunk. He shimmied around to the nearest branch, staining his chest with smears of yellow moss, adding to his already numerous scratches and bruises. A shout of triumph rang out as the other kids spotted him, and he ran along the branch with desperate speed.  
  
"Now we've got you!"  
  
The littlest durekkan stopped at the end of the branch, turning at bay while the older children jumped over to the tree and blocked his return route. Behind him yawned empty space, a break in the tree canopy which even an adult would hesitate to attempt. He could see no way out.  
  
The older children rushed forwards. With a gasp of fear, the terrified youngster spun about and flung himself into the air. The shouts behind him dimmed with the rush of wind. His eyes fixed onto the vain hope of distant safety, the welcoming branch that he could never hope to reach, everything else driven from his thoughts.  
  
The sudden impact dazed him, and stars flared behind his closed eyelids. His arms hugged the solid mass beneath him, and he felt the coarseness of bark beneath his cheek. There was a distant exclaimation of disbelief, and then more voices that faded away as his enemies thought better of trying to follow him.  
  
"You can let go now, little one." The soft, deep voice startled the youngster, and he clung even more tightly to the branch. The owner of the voice laughed. "They will not follow you here. I get few visitors." The youngster opened his eyes and relaxed his death-grip a little, peering sideways to see who it was talking to him.  
  
The face that peered back at him was aged and wrinkled, with an expression that managed to be kindly, stern, serene, curious, childlike and wise all at the same time. His ears were almost as large as his face, pricked forwards in a reflection of his interest. Few Durekken wore any kind of clothing, and the fact that the old man wore a belt hung with all manner of intruiging pouches and trinkets was unusual enough register in the youngster's confused mind.  
  
"Darayo?" The youngster realised that it had to be the old shaman, although he had seldom seen him. "Sir?" he added, nervously. He'd been told that Darayo had unusual and dangerous powers.  
  
"Why did you jump the gap?" the shaman asked.  
  
"Because the other kids were chasing me sir," the youngster answered.  
  
"Why were they chasing you?"  
  
"Because I'm small," the youngster replied, dropping his head back down onto the branch. Darayo stretched out a hand to take the boy's chin, looking into his eyes.  
  
"Size does not matter," the shaman said, "never forget that."  
  
"But it does!" the youngster burst out, struggling into a sitting position. "They're always picking on me because I'm the smallest!" He opened his mouth to continue, then stopped and hung his head. "Sorry, sir." He hadn't meant to argue. He hoped Daranyo wouldn't be angry with him.  
  
"No, I'm not angry with you" the shaman said, surprising the youngser into looking up again. "Sometimes it is good to question your elders. This time, however, I am right. Size does not matter. Look at that gap, little one. It is very big, and yet you jumped across it."  
  
"What's that got to do with getting picked on?" the youngster asked, a little sulkily.  
  
"It is your own perceptions that you listen to," the shaman replied, then saw that the child did not understand. Crouching down, he explained things more simply. "You think you are small, and so you are bullied. Others think the gap is big, and so they cannot jump it. When your mind is free of these things, you will see that size is only what you believe it to be."  
  
"/I/ thought the gap was too big to jump," the youngster replied, stubbornly.  
  
"Did you? When you came to jump, what were you thinking?"  
  
The youngster thought back to the leap. He had been so afraid that the experience was just a blur, a blur with one point of focus on the branch and safety.  
  
Darayo replied as if the child had spoken. "You did not think of the distance at all, only of the branch. Fear took any other thoughts away. You saw things differently because of your fear."  
  
The youngster nodded agreement, although he was not sure that being afraid was a good thing to be, even if it did help him escape.  
  
"You have good instincts," the shaman said, standing up again. "Fear changes the way you see things, but it does not always show you the truth. Come."  
  
The youngster looked up at the offered hand, taking it cautiously. He gasped as the shaman swung him up and onto his back, surprised at the strength and speed displayed by the old man. His arms wrapped themselves around Darayo's shoulders as the shaman trotted forwards along the branch, anticipating what was about to happen. He held his breath and closed his eyes as they sprang into the air, his lungs emptying in a rush with the impact of the landing.  
  
"You are so afraid, little one," the shaman said, shaking his head. "Climb down, and stand here with me."  
  
The youngster did as he was told nervous and uncertain. Darayo placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There is the branch you jumped to earlier," he said, pointing. It looked even further away than it had last time. "You reached it before," the shaman continued, "and so it can be done. All you need to do is to believe that it is possible. Focus on the destination, not on the distance."  
  
"You want me to jump that again?" The youngster gaped at the shaman, incredulous.  
  
Darayo nodded, quite calmly. "Jump you should. You must not be driven by fear, little one. You must jump because you can, not because you fear what will happen if you do not."  
  
"What will you do if I don't?" the youngster asked, in a small voice.  
  
"Nothing, little one," the shaman replied gently. "You may leave now if you prefer."  
  
The youngster twisted his head and peered up at the shaman, trying to judge whether he was telling the truth. He felt somehow that he could trust the old man. He was allowed to leave if he wanted. He didn't have to try to jump the gap. It was his choice. Jump, or be afraid.  
  
"The distance does not matter. Forget your fear. It is your fear that tells you that you cannot reach the branch. The branch is only as far as you think it is." Darayo's voice was insistant, and the youngster found himself repeating his words. He could feel fear gnawing at his insides, churning his stomach. "It's only as far as /I/ think it is," he whispered, squinting across to the distant branch.  
  
"Don't listen to your fear. Fear usually lies. Think only of the branch."  
  
Without knowing why the youngster took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling better for it. He took a tentative step towards the tip of the branch he stood on, an unfamiliar calm settling over him as soon as he moved. He hadn't known that he was going to jump, but as soon as he stepped forward he knew that he had made his choice.  
  
Everything about him seemed to sharpen, each leaf standing out, every shade of color distinct. Fear didn't matter any more. It was only something that got in the way. He would either make it across or he wouldn't. He was going to jump anyway.  
  
The youngster turned his newly focused vision onto his goal, shutting out everything else. He could see the flaking greys and pale browns of the rough bark, speckled with flecks of black and pale patches of cream where the wood beneath showed through. He could see the yellow-greens of the moss that clung to the surface in smooth, spongy sheets. He stretched out his hands, and jumped.  
  
It was impossible. A young Durekkan could not leap that kind of distance. The youngster hadn't even put much physical effort into the jump, just reached outwards and stretched into the distance. Despite the impossibility, he flew across the gap to land triumphant on the branch. The look he sent back towards the watching shaman was one of pure joy.  
  
Daranyo jumped to land beside him. "What did I tell you?" he remarked, as if it were of no consequence. The youngster's triumph faded into disappointment, and the shaman relented a little. "That was good effort, little one."  
  
"If size doesn't matter," the youngster asked, perking up again, "then why do you call me 'little one'? I do have a name."  
  
"I know," Darayo replied, smiling. "I gave it to you. Very well, young Yoda, I shall remember to call you by your name in future."  
  
"I'll see you again?" Yoda asked, wondering why it suddenly suddenly seemed important that this would not be the last time they met.  
  
"That depends on whether you come to visit me," Daroya responded gravely. "It's a long way from the village."  
  
"I'll come visit." Yoda grinned up at the shaman. "It's only as far as I think it is, right?"  
  
"Right," Daroya agreed, his twinkling eyes belying his solemn expression. "Now run on home, Yoda. It will be dark soon, but you will be safe if you are home before sunset."  
  
Yoda nodded happily, and scooted away through the treetops. It was late, and he was hungry, and his mother would probably be cross with him for getting back so late, but for once he didn't care. Something big had happened, something he didn't understand yet. He knew he would visit the shaman again. He could feel it. 


End file.
